


The Death of Magic (Rains Hell On Us All)

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic is dead and eliots in denial, indefinite separation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:17:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: They don't get a warning when it happens. They're in the throne room, celebrating their victory, stressing over what the hell they're going to do now that there are no gods to run Fillory. Now that they have to do everything on their own.And then the flames all go out at once.Eliots brow furrows, and he looks across the room at Margo, thankful that the sun hasn't completely set. "Margo...." he murmurs, "Is this a joke or...?" Margo shakes her head, just as confused as he is. He casts a spell to reignite the flames, but nothing happens. He can't even feel the usual energy course through him. Can't even feel the usual hum of his telekinesis. It's just .  . . Gone.





	The Death of Magic (Rains Hell On Us All)

They don't get a warning when it happens. They're in the throne room, celebrating their victory, stressing over what the hell they're going to do now that there are no gods to run Fillory. Now that they have to do everything on their own. 

And then the flames all go out at once. 

Eliots brow furrows, and he looks across the room at Margo, thankful that the sun hasn't completely set. "Margo...." he murmurs, "Is this a joke or...?" Margo shakes her head, just as confused as he is. He casts a spell to reignite the flames, but nothing happens. He can't even feel the usual energy course through him. Can't even feel the familiar hum of his telekinesis. It's just . . . Gone. 

"Leave us," Margo says, motioning for everyone else to leave the throne room. As soon as they're alone, she whips around and faces him. "Okay. What the fuck is going on?" 

He stares at the ground in front of the thrones for a few long moments, shaking his head. "As loathe as I am to say, Bambi, I don't know." He furrows his brow, swallowing thickly and looking up at her. "Maybe it's just a brown out? The universe adjusting to its god being dead?" 

"Even with the brown outs I could still feel it," she says, pacing back and forth, "I couldn't reach it but I could feel it. Static. Now it's just..." she stops, looks up at him. "Do you think -," 

"Magics not dead, Margo." 

Her eyebrows go high and she takes a step back as she crosses her arms. "I wasn't suggesting that, but now that you say it -," 

"It's just a brown out." He repeats, slouching down in the throne and extending his legs to their full length in front of him. "That's all that makes sense." 

She scoffs. "Quentin killed a god, El. There's no way there aren't consequences. Fuck - why didn't we think of consequences? How could he be so reckless?" 

His gaze snaps up to her. "He saved us all. He did what he had to. And he'll be back any day to tell us everything’s fine." 

"Or he won't. Because he did exactly what we were trying to stop."

Eliots jaw clenches as he scoots up the throne and glares at her until his shoulders are poised perfectly straight. "Honestly," he mutters, snide and not at all kindly, "Do you really think you have any high moral ground to stand on? You don't think about consequences before you do anything. Quentin did what he had to do." 

She sighs, rolling her neck back and looking up at the ceiling. "I thought we were done with this argument. I lost an eye -," 

"And I lost my child!" 

"You didn't even want it!" She yells, before her mouth drops open and her eye goes wide. Her hands fall to her side and she stares at him. “I -,”

“I didn’t,” Eliot mutters, waving a hand flippantly. “But it’s still a little me running around in some fucking fairy realm. Or whatever babies do.” He looks up at her, frowning. “I knew I wouldn’t be a good dad. Fen would’ve been a great mother though. And Fen’s . . . I’m not in love with her. But I’m fond of her. Now both my spawn and my wife are gone.” 

Margo clenches her jaw. “I tried to -,”

“I know you did. I know,” He shakes his head, and clears his throat. “That’s not the problem right now. The problem is magic. We’ll send someone we can trust to check on the wellspring.” 

“Please don’t say Josh.” 

“I was absolutely going to say Josh.” 

She looks at him, tired, before sighing and making her way across the throne room to sit in her own throne. “And if magic is dead?” She asks, quiet. “What do we do?” 

“Magic can’t be dead,” Eliot mutters, standing up and straightening out his vest. “Magic isn’t dead.” 

She looks up at him. “Why are you so fucking certain?” 

He holds his head up high, jaw ticking as he looks up at the ceiling of the throne room. Some of the plant life above is turning brown and grey, like it’s dying. “Because it can’t be,” He whispers, turning his gaze back on her. “Quentin went through the portal. Can’t do that if magic is dead.” 

Her eye widens a fraction before she nods knowingly. “I see.” 

“What?” 

She shakes her head, licks her lips, and one of her eyebrows ticks upwards. “You have Idri, Eliot. Do you really need to focus on Quentin anymore? He’s still fawning over Alice - who, by the way, is the reason he left so quickly - and you’re still pining after him like a fucking love struck teenager. Maybe it’s time you let it go.” 

“I am not pining.” 

“Then what do you call it?” 

“He’s my friend,” He nods, moreso to himself than Margo, “Whom I care for.” 

She raises both eyebrows this time. “Eliot,” She says, slow, as she pushes herself off the throne. “What if magic is dead? What if he can’t get back through the portal? Will you be willing to talk about your fucking feelings, then? Or are you going to sit on that fucking throne, and pine, and whine and do everything you can to ignore what you’re feeling? No magic to ween you off the addiction, if magic is dead. You will kill yourself if you just keep trying to ignore it.” 

“Magic. Isn’t. Dead.” He turns away from her and heads towards the balcony, overlooking their kingdom. “Magic isn’t something that just disappears.” 

“Why are you so scared to just say what you’re fucking feeling?” 

He’s quiet for a long minute, back to her, but he can feel her eyes on him, watching, waiting. “Why does it matter?” he finally says, “What I’m feeling? I’m a king.” 

He hears her inhale before the soft click, clack of her heels moving across the throne room floor. “Because even kings are allowed to have broken hearts. And if magic is dead, and you refuse to get over this crush -,” 

“I don’t have a crush,” he spits out the word, like it’s dirty. Eliot Waugh doesn’t get crushes. He uses and he loses. That’s it. Nobody to get feelings for. Just little moments of infatuation. Lust. That’s it. 

She ignores him, barreling on, “If you refuse to get over this crush, and refuse to admit that magic is dead, what the fuck are going to do when you realize the portal is closed for good?” 

He whips back around and points a shaking finger at her. “The portal isn’t closed for good. They’ll be back any fucking day.” 

She looks at him like she pities him, and it’s not a good look on her. He sneers and turns back around to get away from that look in her eye, and she says, “If it is, Eliot. You have to prepare yourself for the fact that you may never see him again.” 

“I don’t have a crush on him.” 

She’s quiet for a long moment before she lets out a soft breath, and he think’s she’s relenting, until she murmurs, almost too soft for him to hear, “You’re right. Because you’re in love with him.” She laughs, soft, ironically, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” 

“I’m not in love with him.” 

“Why’d you take the role as King?” She asks. “You wouldn’t have done it. Marry a woman?” 

“To stop the beast.” 

“No. You did it because you didn’t want him to die. When we were with the beast, you nearly got us killed because you wanted to protect him. Fuck, Eliot, all you do is protect him. How can you not see it?” 

“Why are you doing this, Margot?” 

“Because you need to face it at some point, and its better now, than when you’re six feet under the ground. I don’t want to lose you.” 

He laughs, hollow and without feeling. “That makes one of us.” 

“El . . .”

He takes a deep breath, and turns back to her. “Quentin went through the portal. He said he’d be right back.” 

“It’s been a week, El.” 

“Time difference,” he shrugs, “The time difference. He could be on his way back to us right this very second. Could only be a few hours back on Earth.” 

She’s looking at him with that look again, “Eliot,” she pauses and licks her lips, biting down on her top lip for a moment, “What are you going to do if he doesn’t come back? If he can’t come back? If magic really is dead? Where do we go from there?” 

“We’re the Monarchy, Margot,” He says, as he makes his way across the room. He stops and rests a hand on her shoulder for a moment, “We go on however we can.” He squeezes her shoulder, and then makes his way out of the throne room. There’s nobody in the hallway as he shuts the door behind him 

A panicked breath rushes out of him, as he falls back against the door. Because Margot could be right. He’s never not felt the telekinesis, not since he - not since he was fourteen. It’s always been this awful, calming hum at the back of his head that reminded he was different. But it’s gone. He can’t cast, either. All that remains where his magic was, is suddenly a cavern inside of him that he can’t even reach. 

And if she is right, if magic is dead, that means, she’s right about one other thing, and it’s the fact that he will never see Quentin again. He lets out a bitter laugh, that’s too quiet and too loud all at the same time, before he rests his head back against the door and looks up at the ceiling. The flowers and moss are dying in here as well, he notices. 

“I’ll be back,” Quentin had said, just before he’d left. “I just have to check on her, make sure the potion worked . . . I need to make sure she’s okay. I - I can’t not.” 

And Eliot had nodded, barely paying attention, while Quentin stood fidgeting beside the table, running his fingers along the edges of the crown. “Take your time,” He’d muttered, “We’re not going to die any time soon.” 

Quentin didn’t say anything else. He’d stood there for a long moment, before sighing and setting the crown down on the table, gentle and with grace, his fingers grazing the edge just along Eliot’s peripheral, and left.

He’d watched him walk away, a small smile on his lips. 

He just didn’t think that that might’ve been the last time he’d see him. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until one of the guards turns down the hallway, and stops. Eliot looks at him for a long moment, before swallowing down a sob and yelling, “What are you looking at? Get the fuck out!” The guard doesn’t move, so Eliot shoves off the door forcefully, and screams, “Go!” 

The guard nods and darts off down the way he came. 

Eliot watches after him for a second, before a sound bubbles out of him, angry and loud, not quite a sob but somewhere along the lines, and he falls backwards again, until he’s up against the throne room doors. He slides down until he’s sitting there with his knees pushed up against his chest. 

He sits there, tears slowly running down his cheeks, staring blankly at an empty hallway, just waiting for something. For magic, for Fen, for something, for - 

For Quentin.


End file.
